Apart from surviving another winter (my 55th) the life demarcation of the month was my mom's 90th birthday. She survived a childhood during the Great Depression, which makes our houses-underwater crisis look like paradise; served with the Waves in WW2, the sacrifices of which make our long lines at airport security seem like fly spec on the window; and she raised me and didn't end up in therapy, which should have earned her a Nobel Prize. She still drives to the store, still sits on her condo board, and still goes out to eat with her friends, and seems as happy as can be. Because of her I am convinced that, if you can stay relatively healthy, independent, and engaged with the world, happiness increases with age, not the reverse. Next target: triple digits.
Apart from that, still writing, still working, still pushing my way through life as best I can. I am 36 years behind my mom.
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